


Aftermaths: Let's Talk About Your Hair

by Lowfogh4nds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A little sad sometimes, After the battle of Hogwarts, Angst, Anxiety, Bisexuality, Breakup, Cigarettes, Dom/sub, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Hair Growth, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Kinky, Love Confessions, M/M, Makeup, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, New Year, POV Multiple, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Reconciling the past, Scars, Self Loathing, Self-Acceptance, Sex Positive, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Smoking, Smut, Straight Sex, Wizarding World (Harry Potter), anyway please enjoy this, baby gay draco, bisexuals, common room sex, if its fancies you, no too risky, potions closet sex, queer smut, sometimes, these kids are going to get to be kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lowfogh4nds/pseuds/Lowfogh4nds
Summary: Ginny and Harry are on the outs and nobody wants to call the game. Harry's still watching Draco. And running out of excuses.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood & Ginny Weasley
Kudos: 9





	1. Percy's Birthday Party

**Author's Note:**

> Begins at the Burrow the week before the start of Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s eighth year at Hogwarts, and Ginny and Luna's seventh. Inspired by my linguistics homework, and I am currently writing next chapters. Will have smut and cursing and adult topics. May be triggering for some people, as it will discuss themes of PTSD, post-war grief, mourning the loss of family, friends, and loved ones. Heavy on the queer reckoning and reconciliating with oneself trope, specifically bisexuality. It’ll be a slow burn, but I promise a happy ending. With all of my love, this is from me to you.
> 
> The song "Let's Talk About Your Hair" by Have Mercy sets the opening mood for this fic with the proper amount of teen/young adult angst. Prost.

August 22nd, 1998  
The Burrow

George saw his sister crying in the garden.

She was far enough, and she must have deliberately chosen the rose bush to hide behind. Ginny liked its dark green leaves and their shade, and its evening sun-orange roses always had a way of glowing all the time, even at night (as, George thought, mum had a way of leaving the magic in her smile everywhere she flicked her wand), so even as the light was vanishing over the house, he could still make her out from afar. Her hair. Her long fiery hair -- it was always her hair, Ginny. She kept it long and down and tight and yet, everywhere (to George's only mildly disgusted frustration), and, really, he loved her for it. Because right now, there was nothing he was more sure of than that Gin was crying in the dirt behind the rose bush, very well hidden, but she must have been counting on everyone being on the other side of the house. It was Percy's birthday, and George could hear the faint but clear sound as he stood behind the window in the kitchen of all the people he loved the absolute, guttingly most in the world, and also those that made his the indescribably saddest to be around. Right now, at least. Right now, he needed to be home for mum and dad. Right now, nobody knew how to talk to him except for Gin maybe, and his parents would never say it but mum couldn't've hidden that he'd need to be staying home; especially after Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione leave for the start of the school year in a week. Gin for her last year at Hogwarts. George took a breath and moved to the kitchen door. Gin made him feel safe here without him, George thought, and his face twitched with the wince of it. But that big stomachless emptiness he felt -- he just stood there breathing at the edge of it. He stopped before turning the handle, his right thumb curled, his palm covering the knob as if to turn it.

As if to open it.

He could weep right there. His tall silhouette cradled in the evening kitchen light in late August. He had kept the lights off as to not alarm any others to his presence or of Ginny's, or of the fact that she was crying in the garden and George himself was stuck in a memory of himself he didn't have the time, the place to remember right now. He measured his breaths, unravelling something. He desperately hoped nobody would come in the other side of the room, Merlin, if anyone saw how bad his panic attacks had been getting and everybody thought they were going away, _they think now they're getting better._

George stopped himself, gripped the door handle. He was mad at it. If he could just sink into the floorboards.

 _I am in the garden_ , George thought. _I am going into garden_. his lips parted on the last syllable as he turned the knob gently and opened the door slowly, quietly.

He crept down the couple of steps and down the dirt path, his worn blue canvas trainers and his dark jeans made him almost disappear to himself as he watched his feet, treading lightly, walk steadily along the path, deeper into the garden and farther from the house. He could hear his breath and distant voices around the sides of the house. And then he heard her. Just the beginning of a sob, he thinks, but it was so quiet and so short and so swiftly snuffed out by the crook of her long-sleeve shirt as she pressed her face into her arm. But he could be wrong, George thought. George could see her more clearly now; just the littlest bit of light that was left caught on the soft pink of her knitted sweater. Gin was crouched, but firmly planted on the ground, her elbows on her knees and her fists balled up in her thick hair she could hardly hide in the dark. Several strands of it were still clinging to the rose bush, caught on the thorns on her way down to the soft garden floor. He approached her and knew she could hear him.

“Hey,” George said just above a whisper. Ginny turned her head sharply, but her eyes looked on him gently. They were just sad – resolute, and sad.

“Hi,” Ginny grumbled as George knelt beside her. When he lowered himself to the ground, she let her elbows slip between her knees, her arms falling in and her bottom crashing lightly against the moss and padded dirt floor. Her fingers had begun to forgive her tired hair that fell around her pink face and her hands slipped out of it and hung between her legs. It was pale as the moon was coming out, and it, with the setting sun, cast a sort of haunting cool lavender filter over the world. George looked at her there, a little heap, but her arms were pulled tight around her shoulders in her position, the cuffs of her flannel pulled taught and up her arms, showing her slender wrists and her toned chaser arms. She’d been training all summer, excited for the quidditch season to start back up in the fall. Gin would practice with Ron or Harry mostly, when she didn’t alone, but when she wasn’t practicing with them, she practiced with George. It gave him something to do at home – with all that space around, all those people inside, all that quiet in the afternoon, and enough grief to feed their family for the next three decades. The Burrow had changed since May. The world was different. It was quieter. More peaceful, certainly. But the noiselessness of peace after war – it’s too easy to hear the cries of all those that survived.

Ginny looked small there, but so – _grown up_ , George thought. _Yeah, that must be it_. His little. They’d outgrown any stupid petty childish bickering of their shared childhood, their shared years. They were adults now. Ginny just turned 17. They only sought to protect each other, now. And George was then, in that moment, beginning to realize that Ginny would be gone by Tuesday morning. She’d be gone. For the rest of term, that is. George would be going back to the shop soon, before the winter -- _soon_ , George had started thinking, speaking to himself when the thought would come up – but he couldn’t yet.

George looked down on her with both curiosity and tenderness twisting on his mouth as he thought. He opened it to explain himself, but right then, Ginny began to weep, so he shut it. She did not cry so loud as too to alert a passerby or anyone who could be in the kitchen, but the cry was urgent. She just wept, small and careful, but graven sobs full of something George was familiar with, but still unsure about. He kept his hands on his knees for a moment and knelt there before her, just to stay; and she knew. After a moment, he took her delicate and calloused hand in one of his and held it with assuring tightness for a short time that passed like minutes.

Ginny looked up at George and began to chuckle very softly, wiping her eyes with the palm of one of her hands and bracing herself as she leaned back slightly on the other.

“I started to feel sick,” Ginny said, as if it were anything, and she hadn’t just been crying. “Came out here to justm—” she swallowed her phrase. “Let it pass. Not a real big deal now,” she finished, hoping George wouldn’t press. She trusted George, and if it were something she wanted to talk to George about, she would, but she didn’t want to, this time. This—

Ginny sighed.

“Gin, I won’t press, it’s alright—”

—This was about Harry. And Ginny really did not know how to even begin about it with her positively mental ( _though lovely and deeply beloved_ ) older brother. Plus, her family loved Harry, including George. If anything, he’d make the whole situation terribly embarrassing for her. She had to keep her family out of it, out of her relationship with Harry, Ginny thought – _I couldn’t possibly make them worry any more than they do now. And mum doesn’t need another thing to mourn._

Ginny cut off her train of thought. She tucked her hair behind her left ear, switching hands against the ground.

“Nobody saw me come out here, I just came into the house to use the loo. I saw you in the garden when I passed the kitchen.” George finished his case. Though the last part was a bit of a lie; George had been lingering in the kitchen when he spotted Ginny. He’d been trying to find a reason to go back out and rejoin the others.

She was just trying to catch her breath. Just trying to convince herself of reasons why there was never really a problem in the first place and she should really be back at the party and people were going to start wondering where she’d gone—

 _Shite, fuck, what if Harry’s not back yet either,_ Ginny wondered, pulling her thin, dark eyebrows together as if to stitch a seam over the panic that she stubbornly refused to let spread across her face. _You’ll be at the party,_ Ginny thought to herself. _It’s time for the party now, Gin love._ She opened her mouth to respond.

“Thank you – for checking on me, I’m fine.” Ginny smiled a bit, and George smiled a knowing one in return, but, again, did not question her. There was no use in doing that if she didn’t want to talk about it, George thought. “And thanks for not pressing it, either.”

“Sure, Gin. Just tell me – you’re fine, yeah? You’re alright? You ok?” George snorted a bit when he laughed quietly, trying to make some light in the dark garden, searching her eyes for a short answer that would suffice.

“Yeah, George. I promise, I’m ok. I’d tell you if I weren’t, yeah?” She answered him to quell any suspicion of the funny, ugly feeling of failure in her chest that was rising into her throat. And Ginny did feel a bit bad, for that.

“Yeah.”

George stood up straight and stretched all large and long, the way a house cat does. Ginny chuckled at that.

 _As if she were six._ George smiled, and it reached his eyes.

“Help me up?” Ginny asked.

George stretched out a hand and she reached up for it, pulling herself up as a feather would rise from the bed of the earth. Ginny stuck her hands in her pockets and started toward the house and George, without a word, matched her step, bringing some purpose into their pace.

“Perc’s being kind of an ass,” George shot Ginny a glance and a corner-mouth smile. “I know.”

Ginny laughed and retorted, “Yeah but Ron deserved that comment.”

“He deserved a shove, is what he deserved,” George mumbled, sort of. And Ginny laughed loud and a little jeering in agreement with that.

They kept on toward the Burrow. The sun was gone now. Just bright, dark blue twilight and the moon in the sky over the place. Ron became visible through the kitchen window as they neared. Ginny hoped to herself he hadn’t seen her, bowed her head, and picked up the pace of her last few strides, reaching to open the door to the kitchen.


	2. The Kitchen Sink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!! I'm excited for the pace to pick up, and it will once they get back to school. Some things are resolved this chapter, and chapter three is for hetero steam. It's ~important for character development~. hehe. Hope you enjoy.

August 22nd, 1998  
The Burrow

Ginny came through the door and saw them both standing around like they were talking about something awfully interesting and important – that is, until Ginny and George came in. Ron and Harry were quiet. Without slowing, but not in any rush, Ginny took notice of her boyfriend and his cold shoulders and continued into the kitchen toward the cupboard with the cups. 

She swung it open the way one would in the home they’ve loved all their life, and reached up, grabbing a translucent blue glass. Ginny walked to the sink and could feel Harry watching her back for moments at a time as she filled her glass with cold water from the facet. She turned, taking a drink.

“Gin, I need to tell you about something,” Harry started. His green eyes were earnest, but he was half the truth. Ginny knew it. Harry twisted his face into something that she reckoned was meant to be an expression of excitement. He was pretending like nothing was wrong at all, and Ginny was grateful for it. He recognized what he meant to mum and the rest of the family. What it meant to Ron that he and she and were together now and so serious—

 _So serious,_ Ginny thought to herself. _He’s always so serious about the stupidest things._ He wanted to keep whatever ridiculous fight they had just had hidden, too, Ginny realized. It was over in a few glances, a short exchange of words, and a brief touch. She had kissed his cheek and excused herself before walking away, carefully calculating her speed to the door, each step more measured than the last. She didn’t want him coming after her. She stumbled through the grass like a girl in an American horror film. Her thighs shook as she felt her feet pound against the earth, leaves blowing past her feet in a gust wind.

Now, Harry just wanted to talk to her, and Ginny was thinking it’d be better if they didn’t, but she also couldn’t exactly see a way out of the kitchen without Harry trailing close behind her. She resigned.

“Yeah, of course,” she spoke before taking a final drink from her glass, tipping it to finish the last third in a gulp. She lowered it and looked at Harry over the brim, his tall broad frame in the middle of the room, he didn’t seem angry, but his magic was all over the space. He was really upset. Ginny felt bad.

Harry wouldn’t take his eyes off her as she crossed the room to him. The hot yellow reflection of the kitchen light shone along the curve of the top of his glasses as he watched her. They walked around the wall and up the stairs to Ron’s bedroom, where Harry slept when he stayed at the Weasleys. He was always here or at Gimmauld Place. But most of the time he was here. It’d been great at first, sneaking to Ginny’s bed at 1:15 a.m. when Hermione was out with Ron somewhere. Playing quidditch out in the field on a Tuesday at 6 in the morning when neither of them could sleep and neither wanted to talk about it. But things had gotten strange between Ginny and him. And she hated admitting that. 

_Fuck,_ Ginny thought, running a hand through her hair. _I really fucked this up. Fuck, he was just trying to be nice, Gin._ She rubbed the side of her forehead discreetly, so as to not draw Harry’s attention to her inner self-berating fest over his shoulder that she was trying to silently wrestle and mask before he turned around.

When they reached the room, Harry strode to his twin bed and sad down on it in the middle, his knees coming up above hips as he sunk into the old mattress. There was a window behind the low headboard of his bed, and through the window, Ginny could see the tops of the trees in the garden as she came all the way into the bedroom. 

“Ginny, what was that?”

“Hey, wait, Harry—” Ginny started to stop him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with you at the table. That—” she put had been talking with her hands but now let them fall in spastic motions awkwardly to her sides. “That wasn’t fair, I know you were…” 

She trailed off, watching him. Her fists were full of regret. His eyes were full of it. If Harry was angry before, he wasn’t anymore. He was waiting for her to go on.

“Harry,” Ginny walked carefully toward him and sad next to him between his right thigh and the window. His legs were tight against his pant legs. Ginny laid her small hand on the jeans above Harry’s knee. 

“Love, I know you were trying to reassure me, and I wish I— I wish I hadn’t lashed out. Please, I— hope you can forgive me.” She bowed her head toward him, waiting to bring her eyes to his. She thought on the events of the earlier evening, when he sat beside her at the dinner table in the grass, his hands in his hair and on the small of her back. She had stopped laughing at the story Arthur was telling. She was a ghost at the edge of the stomachless empty thing and she wanted to sleep in the middle of the party. It seemed a strange thing, to be celebrating. Harry noticed and slipped a hand below the back of her flannel, but she flinched. Harry’s touch on her skin pulled her back to the world of the living like a brick breaking the surface of a pool. She moved away and something perilous flashed across the green in Harry’s eyes. She was afraid, but more of what she was going to say next than what looked like betrayal on his face. That was when she realized the expression on her own must have been ghastly, because Arthur had stopped talking and Percy was clearing his throat.

Ginny tried to meet Harry’s gaze again, but he had started to study his feet. Shite, Ginny was thinking fast.

She swallowed her pride in a hard, dry lump that stuck and stuck on the way down as she leaned in to kiss Harry on his cheek, startling him into looking right at her. 

“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go grab my sweater.” Ginny smiled at Harry, and then at Arthur, ignoring Percy and spinning on her heel in a whimsical gesture. It was nothing, the whole thing was hardly a disagreement at all and yet Ginny felt as if she were about to erupt. She walked back to the house and through it, refraining from running till the moment the side of the house she had been on was well out of view. She had run out the kitchen door through the garden. She ran out of breath at the rose bush.

Now, Harry’s adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed. His glasses were slipping down the small bump on his nose. The air in the room was warm and still around the two of them, and they could hear dishes piling into the sink downstairs. Harry was thinking about what Ginny had said, but his mind was already made up. 

“I thought I’d— I thought I’d hurt you.” Harry reached for her face and curled a strand of her bangs, curving along her chin, around his finger. It kind of hurt when it pulled at the end. Ginny looked back at Harry and he searched her face for the right next words. “I don’t want to be afraid to touch you, Gin. You—“ He stopped himself to think for several seconds.

“I understand you. And, Ginny, I’m sorry I hurt you. I don’t want to be afraid to hurt you.” He almost wish he hadn’t said the last part about being afraid to touch her – he didn’t think it sounded right out loud and he was now beginning to sweat in his palms, afraid he’d really offended her. _Merlin, why is this so fucking hard. Is is supposed to be this bloody hard?_

“You’re right,” Ginny interjected. She leaned closer to Harry, her breath sweet with cinnamon from the whiskey Ron, Ginny and Harry had passed around the same room earlier that evening, snorting among themselves as Percy and his new girlfriend from the ministry, Audrey, could be heard coming through the front door downstairs and mum was calling everyone outside with dinner.

“And you know that’s not what I want,” Ginny spoke softly now. The light in the bedroom was dim, most of the light near the bed coming from the moon, bleeding through the window. “You just surprised me.” 

Ginny looked at Harry and thought how boyish he looked like this, even in the frame of his tiny twin bed. His cheeks were all pink and dark, his scruff growing around the curve of his jaw and she reached for it when she noticed. 

When she did this, Harry kissed her. The hand that had been near her face slid to cup the back of her neck and his other hand moved slowly across her body, searching for the headboard. 

Ginny’s only thought was the smell of quidditch broomsticks and evergreen trees on Harry’s pullover as she let her lids close all the way and pulled at the hem.


	3. Counting Leaves on Clovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you all for reading still! Hetero smut follows, as promised. That being said -- WARNUNG: there is kinky hetero sex in this chapter that involves a dom/sub relationship. 
> 
> And if you're curious, this is the last chapter that takes place at the Burrow. 
> 
> That is all, I hope you enjoy.~

August 22nd, 1998  
The Burrow

The way Ginny loved Harry was like the walk back from Hogsmeade in a light snow. Perfect mornings in the sky over the quidditch field. It was natural, the way they moved together. And nobody ever asked – that was Ginny’s favorite part. Loving Harry, was like mum’s Christmas bunt cake except he tastes this good all the time, and he’s here _now. In front of me_ , Ginny thought and her mind was all bright hot colors behind her eyes as she felt Harry slide the hand around her neck to her back, and then down to the slope of her ass—

 _Her perfect bloody ass_ , Harry thought, lifting them both for a moment as he braced himself against the headboard with his left arm. He laid her on the pillow, on her back. Ginny sunk into the mattress. He wanted her. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was something left to have said that he should have, but this was easier. Sex with Ginny was the easiest part.

Harry pulled on her bottom lip, closing his lips over it slowly, and Ginny opened her pink little mouth in defiance. She lifted her head from the pillow, kissing him hard and slow. Harry let her push on his face for a few seconds before groaning and moving his free hand to her neck. His thumb pressed into the skin between Ginny’s throat and jaw as he tightened his grip around the top of her slender neck, paper-white in the moonlight. He pushed the front of his tongue deeper into her mouth and Ginny opened to let him in, flicking the tip of hers against the back of Harry’s top teeth. His knee pressed against her between her thighs, and Ginny pulled him the rest of the way down in response.

Kissing him hard, she chuckled playfully into Harry’s mouth when he squeezed her throat and backed some inches away from her face, to watch her get nervous. He loved to make Ginny nervous. Ginny loved that they weren’t talking anymore. 

_Fuck_ , Ginny’s gasps for air were pathetic as she feigned resignation. _Harry Potter is mine_ , she thought, and his mouth was on hers again.

Harry released his grip and crossed his arms over this stomach, pulling his black tee over his head and tossing it on the floor to the room-side of the bed. Ginny started unbuckling Harry’s tan belt, her nimble little fingers moving knowingly, comfortably. As she unbuttoned and then unzipped his jeans, Ginny smiled up at him – her eyes darkening, lids dropping, wanting permission. Wanting the tip.

Harry nodded, “That’s it, gel.” 

Ginny lifted her face to the front of his jeans and the imprint of his cock throbbed against Harry’s boxers, tucked tight into his jeans. Harry leaned back on his knees. 

Ginny pulled the front of Harry’s boxers down slow, waiting to watch his cock pop over the elastic seam. Her mouth leaned in to meet his thick as she caught him in her hand, and she wrapped another around it farther down his shaft.

Harry loved it when she did that – put both her hands on his cock. _Bloody hell I want her now_ , Harry thought so loud he could have sworn she heard it. He leaned over Ginny’s head as she licked the tip, pressing her tongue against the slope of the head of his cock, moving her tongue along the base of it. Harry caught his weight on the headboard again, with both hands. Ginny sucked harder on the end of his cock, tightening her hands slightly. 

Harry realized he’d been holding his breath after a moment, and straightened up.

Ginny watched as he heaved, watching her. The smolder in his eyes hurt _he looked so good,_ she thought, reaching to touch his face. There was a glean of sweat Ginny only noticed when her thumb brushed over his flushed cheek. 

“I love you, Harry.” Ginny said. _So much it hurts._ And she feared, looking at him all unraveled in front of her, for her, that there was something wrong with the way it did.

Harry closed the space between them a second after she spoke, bending down and covering her mouth with his. He pushed her back down against the bed. 

He began to pull her clothes off, and Ginny helped him. She lifted her ass as he pulled off her grey khaki pants. Ginny clumsily fumbled with the buttons on her flannel, moving too fast. Harry took off his jeans and let them drop to the floor, his wand rolling out of where it had been tucked, and it vanished under the bed. Ginny tore off her flannel as the last button came free, and Harry was sliding his hand, gently, from Ginny’s knee to the crook of her upper thigh. 

His hand stopped. 

Ginny was laying back on his bed, undressed, her knees in the air around Harry’s hips. Her feet pressed against the sheets next to Harry’s bent knees. Her hair draped across the back of Harry’s pillow.

“Merlin, Gin, _you’re perfect,_ ” the words tumbled out of Harry.

She smiled at him.

“I want you inside,” Ginny let out, low and sweet.

Harry wasn’t going to hesitate. Still, he slowly bent his broad frame over the length of her, bending his arms around the pillow and Ginny’s head to balance himself as the weight of his hips pressed into Ginny’s. He reached down and felt for his cock and watched Ginny’s wide, expecting eyes as he gripped and pushed it up to her opening. Ginny caught her breath and couldn’t bring herself to let it go.

Harry pushed his cock into her slit, and Ginny was dripping out of herself. He pushed in, moaning small when he realized he’d filled her up. Ginny’s eyes fluttered closed at the sound that escaped his barely parted lips.

Harry began to thrust, slowly, opening her up, and he could feel her pulling him in. 

“You feel so good,” Harry gasped with honey in his voice.

Ginny could hardly keep quiet, but she knew there may not be much time before someone thudded upstairs or Ron tore through the door to the bedroom. 

“Wait, wait,” Ginny said, and Harry paused, furrowing his brow. He searched her face to make sure she wasn’t hurt. 

“We should cast a muffliato,” she continued and reached to the spot on the table beside Harry’s bed where she’d left her wand while undressing. 

“Oh, shit, yeah. You’re brill.” Harry said, leaning onto his side without pulling out to make room for her. 

Ginny took her wand in hand and flicked her wrist in a small gesture, nonverbally casting a muffliato charm around the bed and a colloportus charm to lock the door. 

“You’re too smart,” Harry smiled in a corner of his mouth at Ginny after she’d set her wand back down on the stand and turned to look at Harry. She relaxed again against the pillow. “Now,” Harry said, “can I fuck you till you come all over my cock?” 

Ginny’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” she whispered almost to herself, her face reddening in the dark, and opened her mouth.

Harry thrusted deeper to where his cock had slipped from. Harry knew her answer, and she was mumbling yes like she hadn’t meant to when he began to move in and out of her faster, moving one of his hands to grip Ginny’s neck, pressing her into the pillow.

Ginny moaned through a small, choked cough, and raised her eyebrows as she pulled them together and rolled her head back. Harry pushed into her and stiffened his arm against Ginny’s neck, pointing her chin toward the ceiling. 

He leaned back, fucking into Ginny, watching as her head started to slide into the headboard. He put an arm underneath her and lifted enough to pull her back down the bed and closer against his body when he slowed to sink into her tight pussy; she could feel her own heat in her stomach when Harry filled her up.

“Oh, I’m gonna come,” Harry groaned.

“Yeah,” Ginny said in agreement, hoping he would understand. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling. He understood. He thrust back and forth again, slowly at first, and then Ginny could feel herself about come. 

“Do not stop, Harry,” Ginny whined. Her face pulled together as if to beg, and then she relaxed her brow. Her heartbeat was in her swollen pink cheeks and she could feel it in her ears. Harry watched her with set eyes as Ginny came, and in that moment, he felt himself swell.

Harry thrust once more deep into her, and came. Twisting his face, he moaned soft and low and Ginny kissed the square of his stubbled jaw as he buried his cum face in her neck. She wanted to chuckle, but didn’t want Harry to misunderstand.

Harry finished and breathed out. He waited a few moments before letting his weight down on Ginny. 

She chuckled then, “Harry, I cANNOT breathe. Please, bloody—” she coughed exaggeratedly, “—hell.”

He groaned and rolled off of Ginny to her side, leaving a leg over hers.

They looked at each other, then – just looked at each other. And then Ginny’s eyes moved away. She had no… particular look in her eye; her face was rather plain, actually, Harry noticed. And so no one spoke.

After a few minutes had passed, Ginny sat up and combed her fingers through her unbothered but far from neat hair and, in the same motion, slid the black hair tie from around her wrist and tucked her hair through it into a floppy red bun. 

“I could use a smoke,” Ginny finally said, and Harry looked up at her. “Would you like to join?”

Harry watched her dress as he laid in bed. Ginny’s body was toned and thin and fair, freckled everywhere, and Harry just watched her. He wanted to know what Ginny was thinking; he started to feel resentment that she had no intention of telling him.

 _Yeah, I could, actually._ But Harry also thought he wanted to stay inside. He didn’t want to sit in another silence with her, not in the cold that blows in on August nights now, out in the field far from where Molly and Arthur would see them. 

They definitely would not approve of Ginny’s smoking habits. Ginny saw George smoking cigarettes out her window, out far from the house where he thought no one could see. A few nights later, after a quidditch scrimmage with George, he pulled out a pack of muggle cigarettes from the front pocket of his Weird Sisters hoodie. And after reaching into his back pocket, he had in his hand a faded white BIC lighter that had four-leaf clovers patterned across it. Ginny had asked for a cigarette, and George obliged, tossing her the pack. Ginny liked the taste enough, but more than anything she liked the way they felt in her lungs and between her teeth as she shoved her hands in her pant pockets and the way it hung from her sticky lips. It was something to do with her hands.

After visiting Neville for a few weeks in South Yorkshire where his grandmother lives, she brought home a few packs. She’d found that she preferred Salem menthols.

Now, she sat on the end of the bed, looking back at Harry while she talked.

“If not, that’s alright. You look tired,” Ginny said, and he was. He was also glad she’d extended the invitation to stay. She pulled on her short boots, not bothering to untie their laces.

“Yeah, Gin, if that’s alright. That was great! But you’re right, I just—” Harry cut himself off. “I am tired.”

Ginny stood and went over to Harry, who now lay flat on his back. 

“Sure, love.” She leaned down and kissed him quick, grabbed her wand from the nightstand, and spun on her heel. 

The room seemed bigger as she walked across the floor to the charmed door. With her wand in her hand, she mumbled a counterspell to reverse her lock. She looked once back at Harry.

“I’ll catch you at breakfast, then,” Ginny said through a smile, before ducking out the doorframe. 

Harry didn’t move to dress for a few moments, but then he realized Ginny had taken the lock with her when she went.

He pulled back the covers, crawled underneath, and laid there, still. 

After about an hour had passed, he heard Ron come in and fall onto his bed. Harry pretended to be asleep, not wanting him to ask about Ginny and earlier. It was late anyway, and Ron assumed Harry had fallen asleep, his back to him and his covers pulled most of the way over his head.

Harry thought about her. He thought about the itch in his throat. He did not fall asleep until the distant sound of morning owls wrapping on the kitchen window floated up the stairs. Harry slept through breakfast.


End file.
